


Simpleton

by atomiccourier



Series: Atom I.C. Courier [2]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Murder, dark themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-29 22:06:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6395764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atomiccourier/pseuds/atomiccourier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Courier confronts Benny, things get intense, and every problem in his universe resolves itself for a few minutes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simpleton

It’s all too simple, how all you have to do is walk across the floor to finally stand before him. There’s no firefight. There’s no chase. There’s no mind games, not really. Not the extent beyond a change to your tone, calming where it would be threatening, after he’s muttered his “What in the goddamn.” It’s too simple for him to lead you around the railing to the elevator, leaving his bodyguards tipping their heads in confusion.

The ride up the elevator is silent enough to coax out the ringing in your ears. There’s the shuffling of his clothes as he shifts nervously, rolling his shoulders and taking his hands in and out of his ugly checkered pockets. You should be angry, at least disgruntled. But you’re not, you smile at him with pity and causality in the curve of your lips, then turn your head so you won't see you lick them. You’re a predator stalking unaware prey.

You expect turrets when the elevator doors open, because walking towards Vegas included too many unexpected run-ins with owtlaws hiding behind billboards, and you learned quickly to beware learning what your eyes had had hid from them before, (it’s because of him you had ro “re”learn that to begin with) and because the elevator doors open too quickly for your expectations. There’s nothing but an apartment as filthy as his reputation, so it fits when he walks across the floor to join the filth at the bar while you pretend to have an impressed look around.

The only thing you’re impressed with is your own quick eyes when you spot the odd way his coat bends on his back when he’s bending forward on the bar stool. You slide up to him, a little slower than would alert him (you know how fast that is, thanks to the elevator doors) and bring your hand up, sliding the bottom of his jacket up with it, catching the handle of the gun. Then, the tip is against the back of his head, and his head is against the bar.

The arches of your feet hold you steady from where they’re perched on the stools left and right of him. The grip of the gun feels natural, which is fitting, because it’s been yours from the beginning. He babbles, so you press the metal into his skull until he whimpers and shuts up. _He_ was silent, (it’s one of the only things you know about him) so this he will be.

You don't say much. You tell him that you're sorry he got mixed up in this mess, but the game was rigged from the start. He laughs, but it sounds like a sob, and it's too much, so you pull the trigger. One bullet into where the brain stem meets the brain and he's gone, slumped numbly against the counter, like _he_ should have been against dirt.

When you step back, your ears ring, and your brain buzzes at your consciousness, so you have a drink, toasting to his corpse, down it in one go, and take a nap in his bed.

You take a pool cue from his table, affix the gun called Maria to your hip, and exit through the elevator.

The simplicity of the encounter doesn't last long. Since when does anyone have _two_ apartments?

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that's not very nice Atom.


End file.
